


Coming Down Is All I Ever Do, Babe

by lookingfortherainbow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Zayn Malik, Cock Slut Zayn Malik, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Drinking, Drug Use, Exhibitionism, Facials, Friends With Benefits, House Party, Multi, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Liam Payne, Top Louis Tomlinson, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 14:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: “‘Fore you two make more of a show of yourselves, I’d suggest you follow me,” Zayn catches Louis’ suggestion that’s a poorly masked command.Liam isn’t so used to listening, though, and Zayn lets out a whine when he sluggishly slots his leg in-between Zayn’s open ones, rolls his hips so he’s smothering Zayn into the lumpy, tattered couch. Spit slides onto his cheek when his jaw is yanked from where Liam was sucking on his tongue.“Oi, y’heard what I said, yeah?” Louis’ asking, liquor and cocaine making him irritable with Zayn’s sluggishness.“Yeah,” Zayn says, groaning as Liam latches onto his neck and sinks his teeth in.Or, Zayn and Louis are friends with benefits, and Liam joins in their fun.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson
Kudos: 11





	Coming Down Is All I Ever Do, Babe

**Author's Note:**

> Hell's not real, so I figured I'd post this.
> 
> Unedited for now, but later I'll probably come back to do that. Title and inspiration's from Slow Down by Chase Atlantic.

Another two lines are pushed and manipulated into order on the glass table by Louis’ hand. With his other one, he hands Zayn a new note, rolled up and ready to use. 

“No more after this, ‘kay?” Louis asks, though it’s more of a statement, and Zayn knows it. 

He doesn’t say anything, only lodges the end of the note into his nostril and leans down. 

Currently, he’s sitting on a dirty couch in the basement of some friend of a friend of Louis’, music too loud throughout the whole house to make any kind of conversation with the few people who are here. Which is a shame, because the one time Zayn really ever wants to discuss anything and everything with strangers is when there’s white powder residue smeared on his nose.

Sharp inhale and Zayn’s feeling the burn of it from inside his nose all the way to what feels like the top of his brain. He hates that bit--the feeling of ice freezing and expanding inside his cranium, like the space in there is suddenly too tight. But then, it’s ebbing slowly away, and there’s the tensing in his neck, the tingles akin to needles gently prodding into him scraping and spreading from his shoulders to his legs.

When he snorts the next line, his feet curl in his beat-up shoes. The burn in his head lasts a little longer this time. 

It’s not a party, not really. But when he lifts his head from where it was bent over the table he sees a lad walk down the stairs--trousers hung low and white mesh tank hanging off his bulking shoulders just like Zayn likes it--he wants it to be. In fact he’s going to make it one. Maybe it’s the drugs, but Zayn thinks if there’s anyone he’d lose his voice trying to talk over the loud music for, it’s that guy. 

“What’re you looking at me for?” Louis asks, tipping his head back as he swallows another shot. 

Zayn knows he doesn’t even realize he’s probably drunk right now. His pupils have the same blown-out look that they always do, and if that wasn’t telling enough, he’d sat on the back of the train on the way here with him, zoning out as Louis took two bumps from the spoon he always had on him. 

He quirks his eyebrow, and raps his knuckles against the scraped up glass of the table. 

“Nuh-uh, no more.”

“What’re you my fucking mum?” Zayn scoffs, jaw ticking. 

“Oi, don’t get all pissy with me. Know what ‘m doin’,” Louis shoots back, bypassing the shot glass on the side table in favor of grabbing the whole bottle of vodka. 

“Like fuck you do,” he grumbles, watching him take a swig. 

“Alright?” 

One look up, and Zayn’s forgotten all about Louis and his possessiveness over the blow they both waste their shitty pay from the petrol station on. They’re spending habits are as bad as the sad, unemployed men at the strip club that’s a train stop away from where they both live. 

“Hey, mate, s’happening,” Zayn grits out from between his aching teeth, jaw clenching uncontrollably already. 

He drinks in the sight of the man from before, throat bobbing from more than just how dry it feels.

“You mind?” He asks, reaching for the baggy that’s sitting like a little trophy on the sidetable next to Louis. 

“Help yourself,” Zayn breathes, heart beating just a little faster at how Liam invades his space completely in the process of obtaining the baggy. 

He can smell the sweat and cheap cologne on him, and he catches sight of the dark tuft of hair under his armpit. Zayn wants to lick in there and get the hair wet with his own saliva. He settles on tugging at the tank enough to expose a perked up nipple. 

He flashes him a wink and a smile before he turns to arrange three lines on the table. 

“How much do you work out?”

“Clearly more than you ever will,” Louis interjects. 

“Wasn’t asking you, twat,” Zayn snaps, flicking him on the ear. 

The lad’s not paying attention to them at all, too busy clogging his nose with the powder on the table. When he wipes his nose and settles back against the couch, he gives Zayn a smile that looks absolutely lecherous. 

“Asking because you’re jealous or because you’re appreciative?” 

Blatantly, Zayn looks him up and down again, emboldened by his intoxication and the look in the man’s dead eyes. 

“He’s asking ‘cause he wants to eat you alive, mate. Get a fucking clue,” Louis pipes up again, and Zayn’s two seconds from lunging across the fit man to strangle him when Louis’ suddenly pulled in close, the other man’s large hand pushing through the bird’s nest that he calls his hair. 

“Ain’t no mate of yours,” he growls, and Zayn yearns for the treatment that Louis’ currently getting. 

“What d’ya suggest I call you then, hm? You have a name or summat? Gonna introduce yourself to the group?” Louis’ staring him down as he takes another swig from his bottle, not minding the grip his hair is currently in, the way his neck is now being kissed on and bitten at slowly, red streaks left behind by blunt teeth. 

Already, Zayn’s half-hard from watching them interact and it’s obvious to him that the other men are not too far behind. 

“He’s got quite the mouth on ‘im, doesn’t he?” the man asks Zayn, pulling away from Louis’ neck with a suck, adjusts himself obviously in his faded trousers. He doesn't wait for a reply, before turning back to Louis, saying, “You can call me, Liam. Now it’s your turn to remember your manners, pretty boy.”

Louis pushes away from him, and Liam lets him go easily, watches as he gulps more alcohol down before pulling his shirt off. In Zayn’s opinion, Louis’ body really shouldn’t ever be hidden under clothes. His lean muscles are glowing with perspiration in the dim lighting of the basement, and Zayn realizes himself how hot it’s gotten, body temperature rising for several different reasons. It’s gotten more crowded in the small room, and Zayn’s heart is already beating faster to keep him cool. “It’s Louis to you, and he’s Zayn, but you can call him your li’le bitch for all he cares, so long as he gets a cock in his mouth.”

Sweeping his eyes down to where Zayn’s got a palm pushing down on his throbbing cock, Liam quirks an eyebrow at him. “That so, like being a slag, do ya?”

And he’s moving up on him in slow-motion, caging him in with his scent and large arms, gold chain that looks so real Zayn doubts he bought it with actual money hanging from his neck. No one around these parts has any kind of money for that kind of luxury. Zayn doesn’t care about that though when the priceless feeling of having a domineering, muscled man’s tongue sliding into his mouth is easy to come by, costs nothing more than Zayn’s dignity. With the things he and Louis got up to before they were even legal, he’s got no qualms about losing it, really prefers it over keeping it. Besides, keeping it wouldn’t reward him with Liam’s heavy hand that’s now shoving his own palm away from his hardening cock. 

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes when he squeezes it like he’s branding it. 

“‘Fore you two make more of a show of yourselves, I’d suggest you follow me,” Zayn catches Louis’ suggestion that’s a poorly masked command. 

Liam isn’t so used to listening, though, and Zayn lets out a whine when he sluggishly slots his leg in-between Zayn’s open ones, rolls his hips so he’s smothering Zayn into the lumpy, tattered couch. Spit slides onto his cheek when his jaw is yanked from where Liam was sucking on his tongue. 

“Oi, y’heard what I said, yeah?” Louis’ asking, liquor and cocaine making him irritable with Zayn’s sluggishness. 

“Yeah,” Zayn says, groaning as Liam latches onto his neck and sinks his teeth in.

The smart of a sudden slap makes a familiar shot of pleasure ricochet up and down his vertebrae. His cheek is stinging, neck throbbing where it feels like Liam’s stripped his skin off, sucking and marking. 

“Then obey,” he says, before walking away to the room they use for situations exactly like this one. 

“Better listen to Daddy,” Liam mocks, pulling him off the couch. 

Zayn’s hyperaware of how dry his tongue is, body screaming for water, liquid of any kind. There’s no time for that now, though, not when Liam is pushing him to the bedroom that’s just as drab as all the rest in the house, sheets used as curtains, overturned lamp that never gets turned on when they’re in here. Zayn’s never asked who else uses the rickety bed, and he prefers to keep it that way. There’s no mental energy left to care about trivial things like that when he sees Louis slumped in the armchair, kitty corner to the bed, when his jeans are shoved to the ground soon as the door is closed behind them. His arse is slapped so hard that the sound is louder than the bass that shakes the paper-thin walls, and he grunts in surprise as Liam shoves him onto the bed, flips him over like he weighs nothing. 

“God, yeah, bet you like that Zayny, baby. Haven’t had a fella throw you around like ‘at in a week, have ya?”

Zayn tilts his head to look at Louis upside down, sees how tight his grip is around his straining prick, jeans just shoved to his knees. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans, deep and low, eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

The long, seering lick Liam burns into him travels from his leaking cock up, along his fluttering ribcage, to his stretched neck. Like all the times he’s done this before, he opens his mouth when Liam nips at his puffy lips. As expected, Liam is pushy, licks into Zayn’s mouth like there’s a line of men waiting outside the door to be fucked by him. He can hear their own saliva mixing as they slide their tongues against one another’s, hears the wetness of Louis’ precome easing the slide of his sluggish hand over his thick cock. He always leaks so much when he gets to watch Zayn give his body to be used, no questions asked. Zayn wonders sometimes if he likes it better than when _he_ actually gets to be the one fucking Zayn until he’s a mess of come and sweat. 

Moving down lower to nip and suck at Zayn’s earlobe, Liam uses his hands to unbuckle his pants. The sound of metal clinking registers in Zayn’s fried brain, and he starts grabbing at Liam’s naked hips, eyes flying open. He’s salivating for the taste of a sweaty cock, and he wants to do things that he knows will get Louis’ mouth spilling filthy words. 

“Eager one, aren’t ya?” Liam asks. 

He’s looking down at Zayn as he squirms below him, pupils blown out, shining black and empty in the light that’s struggling to get through the sheets. In answer, Zayn tries to pull his hips down so he has something to rut into. When there’s no give, he pants, his body trembling, the drug in his system making him shake in excitement. 

“Need to suck you, put your cock in my mouth already,” he blurts, whines as he reaches between them to jerk Liam’s impressively sized member. 

“God, you _are_ a fucking slag,” he groans, surprise and lust clouding his features. 

For a moment, Zayn’s confused. Until, that is, he’s pushed to the edge of the bed, head hanging off it. He can see Louis pulling on himself faster now, breathing harsh, head tilted to the side, eyes darting madly over Zayn’s body. His shirt is pulled off him, and the view of Louis is only obstructed for a moment as Liam situates himself in front of Zayn’s head. 

All his attention zeroes onto the cock that’s being stroked above his face, droplets of precome landing on his cheeks. He opens his mouth wide, sticks his tongue out, flattened, whining because he needs the salt on his tongue not his face. 

“Yeah, open that filthy mouth for me like a good little bitch. You like being our bitch?” 

Zayn’s whining, nodding his head, arms reaching out to clasp his hands onto Liam’s arsecheeks, desperate to stuff his face full with the throbbing dick bobbing just out of his reach. 

“Oi! Keep your eyes on me,” Louis shouts from his chair. 

As if they coordinated it, the second that Zayn’s eyes flit in between Liam’s spread thighs to stare at Louis, he’s gagged by one of the thickest pricks he’s ever swallowed, his throat closing around the sudden intrusion. He kicks at the mattress with his heel, keeps his eyes on Louis through his tears, sees how his best mate’s hips start fucking into the circle his fingers are making. 

“Fuck yes, choke ‘im Liam, feed that starving, filthy mouth of his your fat cock,” Louis groans over the sound of Zayn choking as Liam begins fucking his face in earnest, giving him no time to adjust. 

He breathes harshly, clawing at the back of Liam’s thighs, not sure if he wants more or less. Eventually, he gets the rhythm, even though it’s hard for him to breath through his stuffy nose. He’s making all kinds of embarrassing sounds around the dick that’s spearing into the back of his throat, sobbing and moaning, saliva oozing out of his stretched lips and slipping down the sides of his face. Through his tears, he sees Louis swiping blood from his nose, disregarding it in favor of stripping his purple cock so fast his hand is a blur. 

Above him, Liam’s grunting, gold chain the only thing left on him, swinging wildly as he pistons his hips. Suddenly, the steady motion stops and Zayn is forced to hyperventilate as his cock is shoved harshly into him. It’s not until Liam shouts that he looks down again only to see that a second pair of hips is framing the view of the chair that’s now empty. 

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Liam’s groaning in what sounds like both pain and pleasure. 

When that swearing is muffled as Liam’s mouth his shoved onto his neglected cock, Zayn’s nails scratch at the fabric of Louis’ trousers that are clinging to his calves, uses it to ground himself from the sensations that are bursting through him. It’s too much for him, and he shoots into Liam’s mouth, hips thrusting unevenly, screams and sobs around the rhythm of Louis’ thrusts that are setting the pace for Liam’s own dick fucking into his mouth. 

“Swallow all of his come,” Louis instructs Liam, and surprisingly, Liam has no struggles with it. 

When Liam’s cock gets suddenly pulled from his mouth, it creates a nasty sound that makes Zayn’s cock twitch before he’s even fully done with his first orgasm.

He’s sucking in air greedily, heaves as his heartbeat rushes in his ears, can’t hear anything above it and the ringing besides Louis’ and Liam’s muffled grunts and groans as they fuck. 

Liam jerks his jaw open again, and Zayn isn’t ready for it when come splashes from the red, uncut head. He’s salty, bitter, the taste exploding on Zayn’s tongue. The animalistic sounds spilling from him are loud enough to cause someone passing by the room to know exactly what’s happening inside it. 

It’s a moment before he sees Louis position himself above him, and this time, he closes his eyes as a second load of white-hot come paints his face. 

“You’re a fucking mess,” Liam’s musing in a patronizing tone as he smears the come into his skin, and Zayn can barely keep his eyes from going cross-eyed, hurts when his head’s been tilted at such an odd angle for so long. 

He’s aware enough to open his eyes when it’s safe, sees Louis’ silent orgasm is ebbing away as he tilts his head back down to look down at Zayn and smile at him wolfishly. 

Without another word to Zayn, he turns to Liam. “Get ‘im straightened on the bed. It’s my turn to fuck his mouth.”


End file.
